In a heartbeat
by StrawberrySab
Summary: 'Only love can be divided endlessly, and still not diminish.' Set somewhere in the second half of season 5. (Awful summary, but you know by now that I'm totally incapable of writing a decent one :P )
1. Chapter 1

**A/N 1: I lost count of the times I wrote/deleted/recovered from the trashcan icon the first chapters of this story. If you are reading this on the pages of a fanfiction site it's thanks to Steffi, Josie and Mary who, in their own different ways, kicked my ass to write it and post it. So enjoy. And please don't do the math of Alicia's age. First it's impossible, second it's only a fanfiction ;)**

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**A/N 2: Dear Kings, I beg you for once to NOT look here or Kiki will kill me!**

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**Set somewhere in the second half of season 5.**

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_**Friday, March 21st**_

The clock on my nightstand marks 1:07 a.m. It's an unrequired reminder that I've been tossing restlessly in my bed for the last two hours. I have shut my eyes, counted sheep, tried to lullaby myself with that mellifluous song that's been playing on repeat on the radio for the last two weeks. Nothing. I just can't get any sleep. But at the same time, I'm too physically exhausted to stand up and make myself a relaxing infusion, or a warm bath. I should stop rewinding the day. I know that's what keeps me awake but I don't have the strength to put the brakes on my thoughts.

This morning we met in court for the closing arguments. I dig deep into my memory and I can't recall any of our face-offs ever being so glacial. Edgy and highly charged? Always. Rancorous? Most of the times. Enraged? Quite often. But today it was all of that mixed with some burning discomfort that I'm still trying to interpret. I struggled to not lose focus on my client's rights but Will's stone gaze made my job all but easy. I might have compromised the whole trial and I can't forgive myself. I can't concentrate, I feel tired and unsettled, and I perfectly know why. It's been a couple of weeks since that _accident_.

_Accident. _I can't really come up with a better way to call it in this moment. A professional fight – only on the surface - had become the umpteenth excuse to blame each other for everything that went wrong between us. We should have learned by now. We should be used to how we are seemingly unable to separate personal from professional. And yet, there we fell, back into that downwards spiral again. I don't know how it happened. I never do. And probably neither does Will. It just happens. Rationality loses out to feelings and we end up saying and doing things that we unfailingly regret later.

But this time… I shake my head and roll on my side, searching from some comfort in the cold pillow. This time I really thought it was different. When I woke up in his bed the morning after, we – or I? - thought we were starting things over, or at least trying to. Never had I been more off track. Maybe it was just me. Maybe we just misunderstood each other's signals for the millionth time. All I'm sure of is that it can't get worse than this. It's like he's always expecting me to do or say something but doesn't dare to openly ask. I would give everything up in a heartbeat if he asked me; but he never does. He never did, not once in his life; and I'm always left wondering what I really mean to him.

I end up being the one unable to give him what he wants. Partially it's true. Something holds me back. Am I afraid? Undecided? I know I love him, at least I did. No. I still do. That's what pains me most. I know I still do. But the damage we inflicted to our relationship can't be repaired in any way. Whenever we try to fix it, we end up cracking it even further. It can't just end like this. It just can't.

Somehow I manage to fall asleep, for when I open my eyes a faint sunlight is already peeking in through the window. I'm still tired and feeling a bit dizzy. I'm tempted to take the day off but I have way too many commitments, so it's easier said than done. I drag myself out of the bed and into the kitchen. Grace is already up and ready to leave. "Morning," I mutter, still drowsy.

"Hey, mom," she greets me with a wide smile and I offer her my cheek for a quick kiss. "I'm leaving but I prepared breakfast for you too." I return her smile with a soft, grateful one. Since Zach went off to college and Peter became the Governor, we spend most of the time alone, the two of us. I thought it would be a complete disaster. I thought that my inability to communicate with my own daughter would turn our time together into a nightmare. Much to my surprise, something in our mother/daughter relationship broke through and I find myself enjoying our moments together like never before.

"You got up early," I observe, a bit inquisitive, as I glance quickly at the wall clock. It's barely 7 o'clock.

"You forgot the school trip, didn't you?" she reproaches me, lightly.

The Smithsonian. She's going to be away for the whole weekend. I'm a horrible mother sometime. I don't even try to deny. "Yes, I did. Sorry," I shake my head in apology. In my defense, I have way too many things to remember lately. I leave her with the usual long list of cautions. I know she doesn't need them but my role of mom requires that I do it nevertheless. When the door closes behind her, I'm alone.

I glance at the pans with the breakfast waiting for me. Pancakes, eggs, bacon. Grace cooked for a whole regiment. That light sense of dizziness hits me again. I'm not hungry, actually all that food kind of makes me feel sick. I give up eating and stand up. I have to get ready for work, like it or not. I check the calendar. It's the 21st of March. First day of spring, I notice with a light smile. My eyes fall back unconsciously two rows up, making me frown. The smile is gone and forgotten. I shake my head and turn to leave. I vacillate a bit, my legs failing to prop me. I should eat but I can't ignore the strong signs my stomach is giving me. I know I wouldn't hold anything down anyway. I steal one last look at the calendar as I leave the kitchen; I freeze.

_Two weeks._

I feel my cheeks turn red, burning from panic.

_No._

_It can't be._

_It's just a stupid coincidence. _

I force myself to close off the thought. Of all the twists that fate could reserve for me, this would absolutely be the worst and meanest.

_It's just a stupid coincidence. It's just a stupid coincidence. _

I repeat it to infinity until I eventually calm down, at least in appearance. I walk into the bathroom and start to get ready, overindulging with face powder and blusher to cover the paleness of my face.

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_**Monday, March 24th**_

Flu. That's how I decided to confine this growing sickness in the end. It's springtime. Weather starts to oscillate between cold and warm and people get sick. It's all fine. Like it's fine being four days late. Stress does that, doesn't it? I work too much, think too much, stress too much over anything. It's all fine. I just need to slow down and get some rest, maybe take a few days off. My bad habit of taking work home during the weekend does not help me in any way, but I have no choice now if I don't want to see my firm sink under the relentless attacks of Will's little armada.

Grace is in the kitchen on the phone with a friend. I overhear part of their conversation as I crouch down on the couch with a client's folder in my hands. I skim through the first page but my mind can't store a single word I read. My gaze falls on the glass of wine I poured myself half an hour before. It's still untouched. I don't even know why I poured it in the first place. It's a habit, an automatic gesture like taking off your shoes when you enter home, but right now I don't feel the need for it. I suspect it's my subconscious that tells me that but I take it in as my own will – or lack of it. I close the damn folder and peeped discretely towards the kitchen, exhaling in resignation. Then I take the glass and for a moment I just stare at the garnet-red liquid. I bring the glass to my mouth but barely dampen my lips.

"Mom…"

Grace's voice, soft as it can be, startles me from my contemplation. "Yes?"

"Can I sleep at Claire's Wednesday night?" she asks.

I'm lost. My mind is still wandering somewhere between the wine and the client. Then I notice she's still on the phone, covering the microphone with one hand.

_Claire? Oh, right. Claire._

I catch the light concern in her eyes but do my best to dissipate it with a sweet smile. "Sure, if Claire's mom is fine with it, too."

I follow her with my gaze as she disappears back into the kitchen. I put the glass down on the coffee table and sink back onto the couch, resting my back against the cushion as my hands play restlessly with the buttons of my pajamas.

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_**Tuesday, March 25th**_

I have to meet Will again on Wednesday morning. Another debilitating trial session. It's like fate decided to constantly put us against each other. It's not even remotely close to funny, especially when every hit I manage to strike is returned doubled. If only he knew… I shut my eyes and shake my head. No, there is nothing to know.

I met a new client at lunch, I spent the weekend stressing over the fact that we can't afford to lose this one. The intense smell of food that hit me as I walked into the restaurant still makes my stomach turn. I cringed and tried to breathe through my mouth in the hope it would make it a bit more bearable but nope, it didn't work. I'm still grateful that it took me only twenty minutes and a harmless salad to convince him that we are worth his trust.

Eventually, I bought a pregnancy test on my way home tonight; I don't know why, just for peace of mind I guess. It's in my bedroom, locked in a closet, hidden under a thick pile of underwear. It's there so in case my anxiety becomes obsession it only takes me 3 minutes to know the truth. But it's only a case of bad flu, it will be gone in a few days. I have nothing to worry about.

I hear Grace's barefoot steps nearing and look back to follow her figure as she sits and curls up against me for our movie night. I declined decidedly on her suggestion for some movie about babies with a vague not-in-the-mood excuse so we ended up with a Russell Crowe's cheesy one; it's not much better but at least it distracts me for a couple of hours. When later that night I go to sleep, I stare for a while at the closet. I'm tempted to give in to the urge of knowing. It lasts a moment. Do I really wanna know? I close my eyes, the agitation still accompanies me but somehow I fall asleep.

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_**Wednesday, March 26th**_

"Objection Your Honor!"

It's the third objection in the space of a few minutes. I glance in Will's direction, exasperated. I'm exhausted, my eyes plead with him against my will to stop this machine-gun fire. I should have asked Cary to take my place. I haven't eaten anything in two days and I don't have the strength to keep this up. My sight gets a bit blurry, a myriad of white small dots start dancing in front of me. I sit down and close my eyes before I faint. I cannot faint. I know I'm conscious, for I can distinguish clearly Will's and Robyn's voices calling my name but I can't talk. I feel something against my lips… a glass… Someone tells me to drink and I force myself to sip. Its taste is awful but I drink anyway. I know perfectly what's going on and I feel my heart start throbbing in panic. _This is not the flu_. I need to calm down. _This is not the flu_. Who am I trying to kid? After a while – a few minutes I guess? I can't say – I manage to get my eyes open again. I hear the judge bang his gavel declaring the session suspended. "I'm fine," I murmur to nobody in particular.

Robyn contests that I'm not and it's pointless to disagree. Out of the corner of my eye I catch Will's frightened look. If I know him a little, he's certainly drowning in his sense of guilt. For a split second I consider reassuring him that it's not his fault but I don't want to deal with his objections. I had enough of them already during the trial. When I regain enough balance to stand up I beg Robyn to drive me home.

I'm thankful that she doesn't ask questions I wouldn't want to answer. It's one of the reasons why I like working with her; she never mixes private with personal. She offers to accompany me through the elevator ride, up to my apartment, but I decline politely. When I finally step into the stillness of my apartment, I walk straight into my bedroom and drop on my bed, exhausted. I remember in this moment that Grace is not coming home tonight. I'm alone again. I close my eyes and fall into an instant, heavy sleep.

I wake up disoriented three hours later. It's already dark outside. It takes me a moment to recollect what happened. I prop on my elbows to sit up and stare at the closet with hesitancy. Six days. I've never been six days late in my entire life. I can't keep postponing this. I can't keep ignoring the signs that my body sends me and that get stronger by the day. And Grace being away makes it the perfect moment. Maybe _perfect_ is not the right word under the circumstances. I breathe in as deep as I can to give myself courage. I open the closet and pull the small box out. My hands are trembling as I walk into the bathroom and follow the instructions meticulously.

3 minutes.

I force myself to not stare at the test as I catch the first shy pink line appear. _One line. Okay. Breathe_.

I close my eyes. I have to leave. I can't be staring at this stupid test for the next three minutes or I'll go crazy. I stand up from the tub's edge and as I turn to exit, _it_ catches my attention.

I'm petrified.

It's light, barely visible in its subtlety, but I know it's there.

A second line.

I'm sure my heart is about to explode but I don't have the lucidity to regain control of my body's reactions. Actually, I think I lost that control roughly three weeks ago.

I gape unbelievably as the line becomes thicker until I know with no doubt that it's not a figment of my imagination.

_I'm pregnant._

_I can't be. _

_I just can't._

I close my eyes in the faint hope that when I reopen them the line is gone. But it's still there.

_Two lines._

_I'm pregnant._

I don't know what to do.

My legs go weak, I sit back on the edge of the tub before I fall down. I don't even have the strength to take the test in my hands. It's already more real than I can bear it. I just sit there for what feels like an eternity, my gaze lost blankly on the ceramic floor. My mind is numbed and completely incapable to form any kind of concrete thought. There is only _that_ word that keeps on bouncing back and forth. _Pregnant_.

I repeat it – or rather it repeats itself – in my mind until finally it loses a bit of its shattering impact and I can start to grasp the news.

A baby. _Will's_ baby.

To have lived with the suspicion for the last five days is not making it any easier to come to grips with its reality.

All the complications hit me like a brick full on in the face. Peter… the kids… the press… the pregnancy… How can I tell them? How can I tell Will? Do I even want them all to know?

It was never supposed to happen.

I can't… I can't have a baby, not at my age, not under these circumstances, not when I'm at odds with the father like never before in our lives. I can't go through a pregnancy knowing all the risks it can entail at my age. It's pure madness. I close my eyes again, this time in dejection. I feel tears start to spill and I can't hold them back, I don't even want to. They are my only way to let it all out.

I cry in despair because I don't know how to deal with it, I cry in fear because I'm scared for me and for that little life that is just starting, I cry because in the end it's Will's baby and if it were another moment in time, another situation, he would be here sitting with me and we would be sharing a whole different kind of tears.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N 1: Thanks for all the review on the first chapter! I know that some of you are not really into baby stories or just skeptical, so the only fact that you read and reviewed anyway means really a lot to me.**

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**A/N 2: For the guest reviewers who asked, the story will be completely from Alicia's POV and is planned to cover all the pregnancy until birth.**

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_**Thursday, March 27th**_

I jump in fright as the phone wakens me, ringing loud in the quietness of my apartment. I squint my eyes a few times to get the sleep off of me and take in my surroundings. I'm on my bed and I'm wearing my pajamas. I can't remember going to sleep, let alone changing my clothes. I hasten to get up and answer to stop the banging in my head and when I recognize the voice on the other end I have to lean against the wall for support.

"Hey." Will's voice is soft, he sounds concerned.

I suddenly remember the accident in court yesterday. I close my eyes and bite my upper lip nervously. "Hey."

"I… I just… I wanted to check if you're fine," he stumbles a bit on his words, "but… your cellphone's been off since yesterday."

_Dammit_. The cellphone. I turned it off before the trial session, then everything fell apart and I forgot to turn it on again. I think of how many missed calls I probably have and with one hand I cover my face in self-pity. _Stupid_. I don't even know where I left it. I might as well have forgotten it in court for what I remember.

"I'm fine," I say very concisely.

I can hear him sigh. I'm not sure I convinced him but I'm sure that an _I'm fine_ is way better than an _I'm pregnant with your baby_. And I don't really think we might have anything else to say after all the venomous words we spit at each other in the last weeks.

"Good…" He almost whispers. I can easily imagine him nodding unconvincingly on the other end, with his mouth contorted in a light wince of disapproval.

"I should go now," I cut it short. I can't really deal with him now.

"Sure," he apologizes.

The confession is there, on my tongue, begging to be revealed, but the bit of rationality I'm still left with reminds me of how ridiculously stupid it would be. "Bye." I hang up before he can answer, then close my eyes. The dizziness seems stronger today. I have stomach cramps and I can't distinguish if it's hunger or a side effect of pregnancy - probably both – but they are painful and I have to eat sooner or later or it will only get worse.

I remember my priority. _The cellphone. _

Maybe it's still in my purse. I grab it from the couch where I dropped it yesterday and there I find it. Three missed calls from Cary and two from Will. I check the clock and realize I should be in court in half an hour. I instantly call Cary and beg him to cover for me, babbling the first incoherent excuses that come to my mind. He complains that he can't, that he's not prepared for the trial and I can't blame him but my insistence must convince him at some point that I have no other choice. And when I finally fix all the professional chaos, I realize that I have no idea what to do next.

I am completely alone.

I walk into the bathroom and glance at the top of the washbowl from afar. The test is still there, reminding me with its two pink lines that I didn't dream it. My hands move down to cover my belly in an automatic, unconscious gesture. It's all real. I grab the test before I end up forgetting it's there and Grace finds it with a catastrophic outcome.

I dealt with every possible obstacle life threw at me in the best possible way, I dealt with two unplanned pregnancies when I was far younger and inexperienced, but I have no idea how to deal with _this_.

I need somebody I can talk to. Someone I can trust. I don't even take Owen into account, I can't take any joke and I know that he would – even if unintentionally - come out with something inappropriate. The woman who used to be my best friend hasn't talked to me in months and would probably cut and run at only the mention of the word _baby_. There is only one person I wish were here to cuddle me and it's sadly the only one I can't ask. I sigh deeply as I walk into the kitchen and sit at the island with the phone in my hands. I come to blows with myself and fight against my pride to make the call I always swore I never would. I scroll the names down till the very bottom and force my finger to press the green button.

"Hey," I whisper in resignation. "Can… can we talk?"

I don't give explanations, not over the phone.

When the doorbell rings, roughly twenty minutes later, I struggle to hide the after-effects of the upheaval. I open the door and can already read the concern in those eyes. "Hey, Mom." My words are barely whispered.

"Hey." She knows that something is wrong. She knows I would never turn to her for comfort, or help, or whatever it is that I might need in this moment. The worry is etched on her face.

I look down, step aside to welcome her in, then show her the way into the living room. As I sit down on the couch, she doesn't say or ask anything; instead she drops her purse on the sofa and joins me. The silence that fills the apartment is awkward, a tad uncomfortable, yet her voiceless presence here manages to soothe me a little. I lean in and rest against her, letting her enclose me in an embrace that, uncertain at first, becomes tighter and warmer as we both relax. Grateful for her lack of questions, I close my eyes and enjoy that, for once, the woman that brought me into this world is doing what she's supposed to. I don't know for how long we remain like that; her hand caressing my hair in a delicate, repetitive movement has a calming effect on me and I don't want to break this peaceful moment.

"I'm pregnant," I whisper eventually, almost imperceptibly. If it weren't for her hand that for a second stops her hypnotic caressing, I would doubt she even heard me.

Her reaction is not immediate, not that I expect it to be. I give her the time to absorb my admission and come up with her own conclusions.

"Will?" More than a real question, it sounds like a request for confirmation.

My answer is a weak nod. And when she holds me even tighter I struggle to fight back tears, for I promised to myself that I won't cry anymore for this baby. I have to be strong for both.

"Will you tell him?"

I don't have an answer for this one. Common sense tells me that I have to tell him, that he has the right to know. But if I look back at all the fights, at how we left each other, at all the accusations, I know that I simply can't. If we couldn't make it work, just the two of us, how can we expect to make it work with all the complications that a child entails? I open my eyes and look up at her, searching for something, anything, a sign of what she thinks is the right thing to do. I can see her worry, but I don't have my answer. "I don't know." I'm barely coping with it myself, actually I'm still trying to recover from the shock. I can't even think about bringing Will into the picture now, not yet. "Maybe…" She doesn't give me a single word of advice, for the first time ever she doesn't try to tell me what I should do and I'm so lost that I don't know if it's a good thing or a bad.

All I know is that when she leaves later in the afternoon, I pull myself back together and try to come up with some kind of plan. I know I have to see a doctor first, it's the only thing my mind managed to conclude and the most logical one. With a bit of apprehension I make an appointment for the next Tuesday – April's Fool, it sounds so much like a bad joke right now – already knowing that the following days will be the longest of my life. I have to deal with the sickness and make sure that Grace won't notice, I have to slow down with work if I don't want to faint again and make sure that Cary or anyone else won't notice. For how long? I sigh deeply, for I have no idea. It's a mess already and it's only bound to get worse.

And then there is Peter… we've tried to keep the separation under the radar for a good month now, waiting for the most suitable moment to release the news to the press. This will be a titanic scandal, once disclosed, probably even bigger than his short-lived fling with Marilyn. He saw me go through two pregnancies, he will notice before I even have the time to tell him. I can only hope he's not coming back from Springfield for a while, the distance makes everything easier.

I command myself to not think about Will. If everything else will explode and deflate quickly, we will have to take care of a baby. Or _I_ will have… If…

_If…_

I frown. _If _everything goes the right way. My age makes the chances for a miscarriage far higher than I want to think. And it jars me that the thought of losing this baby is scaring me to death. Maybe I should actually wait until the first trimester is over before messing up anyone else's life. I don't want anybody to pay for my mistake and this is by far one of the grossest of my life, but in the heat of the moment, after months of tension and held-back desire, every precaution's thought went brightly to hell.

The familiar sound of the front door opening pulls me out of my musings. I panic. _Where did I leave the test?_ I stand up quickly from the kitchen stool and stagger. Then I remember and relax, cursing at my failing memory. It's in my purse, for I clearly can't risk throwing it in our own trash.

"Hey, Mom!" She greets me with a kiss. Her cheerful voice lifts me up. I missed my young woman but at the same time it was a relief that she wasn't around last night.

"How was your day?" I ask her about school, about her night at Claire's, everything that can distract me and at the same time distract her from my look as I realize that I'm definitely not at my best. I let her talk, her enthusiasm is contagious and a real cure-all and I feel slightly better.

"Why aren't you at work by the way?" she asks with nonchalance.

I freeze. It lasts a millisecond but I know I do. "A client cancelled his appointment, I came home early."

"Good," she nods without looking at me as she pours herself a glass of juice. "At least I think," she says, looking confused. "You work so much." Her words come out like a light reproach.

I smile and shake my head. She's adorable when she plays mommy with me. "I have to…" She knows how hard the first weeks have been, but she's oblivious to what's behind the civil war that's been wearing me out and making me lose sleep. She thinks it's the downside of getting a new firm started and it's better this way. She would end up hating Will for something he's not to be blamed.

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_**Friday, March 28th**_

The morning sickness hits me with violence. Never before have I been so thankful for my own private bathroom. I throw up the little bit of dinner I had last night and feel my stomach writhe achingly. I fall on my knees in pain and cover my mouth to muffle the scream that I can't hold back.

"Mom, you okay?" Grace must have heard the dull thud.

I ponder quickly. From where I'm kneeled I can only open the water of the sink, I clench my teeth and reach out to do so. "I'm fine!" I say loud to make sure she hears me. "Just… dropped the shower gel!" I pray that she buys it.

"Okay…"

I exhale, relieved.

My hand is still covering my belly. The cramp is gone and I can finally breathe. I struggle to stand back up and I stare at my messy image in the mirror. The dark bags under my eyes and the unhealthy paleness of my face - not to mention the hair that's stuck to my face like glue - make it obvious that I can't go to work. Still, I have no other choice. This is happening in the most ill-timed moment but we are already having a hard time surviving Will's attacks and to leave Cary alone is equivalent to signing our death warrant. At least I have no trials planned for the day.

I hide the effects of the dizziness behind too much makeup, - I've become a master at veiling my problems - then dig deep to find the strength to face this day. I'm about to jump into my car when it hits me how thoughtless it is and how dangerous it would be if I had more of those cramps while driving. I'm reckless but not totally witless, so I call a cab instead.

I'm beset by Cary before I can even put a single foot into my office. I learn now that the trial session was a complete disaster. I'm flooded with guilt but there's nothing I can do, other than apologize. And it's nothing new anyway. We are always pretty good at accusing each other whenever something goes wrong, so in the end, it's just one more fight. I wonder how Will and Diane always managed to get along so well because we can't seemingly agree on anything. And I'm pretty sure that this is one of the reasons we are slowly but inevitably foundering.

I skim through all the files on my desk with no focus. I'm busier making sure I look _normal_ than getting any actual work done. It's a mission impossible anyway when my mind keeps flashing the events of the last days. I realize that Cary didn't even ask me how I feel. He can't not know what happened in court. I feel a bit hurt but I don't mention it, because I'm well aware of the mess I left him in. I try to take care of at least the essential business till the day is finally over and for the first time in months I don't bring work home for the weekend.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank you again for all the reviews! **

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_**Tuesday, April 1st**_

I have adopted over the weekend the very smart solution of letting the sink's water flow every time sickness catches me. It saved me from Grace's curiosity on more than one occasion already, even if I don't know for how long I can resort to this poor gimmick. I wash my hands and brush my teeth a lot more than needed and at some point she will end up suspecting something's wrong.

I did the same this morning, though I'm entirely sure that my sickness has a little to do with the physical condition and a lot to do with the psychological one. I have my medical appointment in something more than three hours and the anxiety is eating me up. When Grace leaves for school, I start to pace nervously back and forth, finally allowed to give vent to all my turmoil.

I'm about to meet this baby for the first time. This little being that's turning my life upside down in a way that's not yet for me to know.

My hands are sweaty. I need to distract myself so I start to clean the apartment, it always works, but I realize it might not be the best idea when cramps hit me again and I have to lay on the couch in pain. I start to fear that these cramps might mean nothing good, for I can't recall ever suffering them with neither Zach, nor Grace, but it's been ages ago and my memory of those days is more than blurry.

Somehow these few hours pass me by, though in slow motion, and by the time I sit in the doctor's waiting room I'm fazed and a bundle of nerves.

I glance with discretion at the women waiting with me. There's a woman in her late days of pregnancy. She's probably in her twenties. Oh God what am I doing here? This is wrong, this is wrong, this is _wrong_.

"Mrs. Florrick?"

I hear my name in the background but it takes me a moment to connect that someone's calling me.

"Mrs. Florrick?"

I jerk and stand up promptly as I realize that the person calling me is the doctor's assistant. The time has come. I inhale deeply to muster all the courage I need to face this moment.

The strong smell of disinfectant, or whatever it is, destabilizes me and makes me wince in nausea. I'm sick to my stomach and a tad woozy as the doctor greets me warmly and with apparent nonchalance rattles off the list of all the possible complications of a pregnancy at my not so young age. She scares me even more – did I really need a reminder of something I already knew? – and I start to wonder if I'm really ready to run the risks. I know I have a choice, an _alternative_, one I would likely end up regretting and that would make me hate myself for the rest of my life, but that in the end would be the most well-advised, sane decision. I don't know what's worse. She invites me to get undressed and prepare for the echography. I accomplish this with some hesitation and as I lay on the examination table I close my eyes and clench my teeth. Those cramps again, combined with the chilled gel, make me tense up. The doctor must notice my reaction, for she asks if I'm fine. I tell her about the pain and I'm overwhelmed, already fearing her answer. But when she reassures me that they might be the norm I feel a smothering weight is being lifted off my chest. I nod and give her a relieved half smile.

My gaze shifts unsettled between the confused images shown on the black and white monitor and the doctor's eyes, which scan closely every corner of the image in search for something.

Her face softens and opens in to a bright smile. "Here it is!" She exclaims with enthusiasm, then turns to look at me. By instinct I stretch up to take a better look of the monitor. It takes me a moment to distinguish the image.

"Hello you," she whispers softly to the monitor and points at a small, white stain in the middle. And in that moment I see it… I smile, my smile turning quickly in to a soft, emotional laughter. My baby. My child. This tiny, nearly invisible human being is really growing inside of me. I'm mesmerized as I distinguish clearly the head, the little round belly and the hint of what will soon become arms and legs. I don't even realize I'm crying, overwhelmed by the emotion, until my hand moves to wipe away the tears blurring my sight. The doctor is saying something but all I receive are muffled sounds whose meaning gets lost in the moment. She mentions sizes, days, all information I will have the chance to retrieve later and that matters little right now. The baby is healthy, nothing else is important. All I see is that tiny baby-shaped figure on the monitor. All I see is _my baby_. She indicates a small point and I gape in amazement. I didn't catch it at first, little as it is and my heart suddenly skips a bit. It's not bigger than a pixel, so little that the eye barely catches it, but it's there and it flashes so fast that for a moment I can't believe it's even real. His little heart. Or hers? I'm pretty sure there's no way of knowing now, but it doesn't matter. That little heart throbs like a drum, and although all I see is a little flashing image, in my mind I can hear it pounding. The sheer emotion makes my own heartbeat uncontrollable.

Yet, I feel that something is not like it should be. I'm in seventh heaven. I keep staring at the image, enraptured, completely spellbound by that little miracle, but I feel that something is missing and I perfectly know what. I cloud and the tears of joy blend with the sad as I become aware that I shouldn't be here alone. I can't remember the last time I felt so happy and devastated at the same time. Actually I don't remember ever feeling like this at all. This is not only _my_ baby. It's Will's too. And if there is something I'm sure I still know about him is that if he knew, if I told him, he would be here next to me in a split second. If I had any doubt or fear, if I was completely lost and in the dark about my future, now I know exactly what I have to do.

Before I leave, the doctor gives me all sorts of recommendations, a few of them I already know, but when she mentions amniocentesis I frown. It's necessary to make sure the baby is really healthy and not just in appearance, she explains gravely. But the risks connected agitate me, and not just a little. She mentions miscarriage and I close my eyes in denial. I leave with the promise that I will think about it. I have plenty of time to decide and it's not my priority right now.

That same night, I sit in my car for a good quarter-hour. I keep staring at the picture with a sweet, yet apprehensive smile. The memory of the earlier visit is still so vivid that for a moment I think I see it move. It's so tiny, - the size of a lentil, the doctor joked - and I still laugh at the amusing thought.

I look outside of my car window towards the entrance of the once familiar building, the entrance to Will's apartment. All I have to do is take a deep breath, knock at his door and tell him the truth. Simple as that. At least in my mind.

I look back at the picture in front of me. I'm not yet six weeks' pregnant. The baby is fine, I am fine, cramps are normal, everything is okay so far. So far. All the possible complications and the risks come to haunt me like a boomerang, making me shiver lightly in concern. The speech the doctor gave me is my unpleasant hard landing. I can't do it. I can't tell him, not now. I shake my head, then lean against the steering wheel in frustration.

What if Will's happy but then something goes wrong? What if he's not and I'm left to face it all alone? Either way, it's going to be crushing. I give one more look at the glass doors, torn. My lower lip is hurting and I realize how forcefully I bit it. I start the engine and let out a deep sigh. It's not the moment, not yet. I'm being a coward and I know it. I'm afraid; that it might end badly and that it might end well; that Will might not want to have anything to do with me anymore and that he might actually want to try and fix things between us. The latter frightens me the most, for I'd never know if he's doing it for me or for the baby. The idea of tying him back to me like this is the farthest thing from my mind.

This is my last thought before making up my mind and driving back home.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: This chapter was harder to write than I had imagined. Thanks to Josie for being a wonderful sounding board and to Mike for being my usual awesome beta. And a hearty thank you to every reader and reviewer. Your kind words mean everything!**

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_**Sunday, April 6th**_

To hide the morning sickness from Grace is not as simple as I thought it would be, especially when the _morning_ starts when I wake up and apparently lasts most of the day. There is really nothing morning-ish in this lingering undertone of nausea that keeps me company twelve hours a day. But one good thing is that I'm learning to control the cramps; now that I know it's part of the package I just try to relax and take deep breaths instead of contracting my whole body, which obviously only made it more painful. Now I know it and at worst, if someone notices my sudden and weird pauses, I can pretend I'm upset and trying to regain control of my nerves, so they leave me alone. It's a win-win.

But this Friday _it_ happened. I stood up from the couch, probably faster than my body could take and nearly fainted again. I saw the terror in Grace's eyes as she seized me before I could fall. I thought it would be easy to just act naturally for the first weeks until I would come up with a solution, but my body is working against me and won't lose any opportunity to try and reveal my minuscule yet cumbersome secret. Grace made me agree to see a doctor, I don't think she has any idea of the real reason behind my unease and I feel horrible for lying to her like this, especially now that we have finally managed to reinforce our bond. I feel like I'm betraying her and, though I know it's for good reasons, I'm not sure she'll be able to understand the grounds of my secrecy.

But the real shock came from Will. We met in court Friday morning and I'm sure he was different, less vitriolic and belligerent, as if my sudden illness of last week made him rethink his psychological battering. He didn't ask me anything, his features made impassive by a mask of indifference, but I can read those eyes better than anyone else and I know that he was concerned.

Every time my thoughts rest on him, I silently pray that he doesn't do the math or it'll take him no time to know the reasons behind my weariness. I'm not yet ready for that. I'm not yet ready to let him know. I picked up the phone to call him a couple of times, I stopped in front of his building twice, but every time I think I'm ready I retreat again. I don't think I've ever been so conflicted about anything in my life like I am about handling this pregnancy and all its ramifications. I just wait, as if the solution will present itself at my door while I know it won't. Or maybe I unconsciously hope that Will finds out by himself so I don't have to tell him and to see his face as I confess to him that he's about to become a father.

All I know right now is that I'm thankful for the weekend, because I'm home alone and I don't have to hide the sickness, or the damn cramps, or the tiredness. Two days when I'm finally allowed to let go. My hands sometimes move down to cover my still flat belly. I'm unaware of my own gestures, it's my protective nature I guess, and I realize I must be more careful.

I lay down on the couch and make myself comfortable, the picture firmly in my hand – one more upside of being home alone is that I don't have to hide it – and I stare at it dreamingly, one hand resting on my belly. Every time I look at it, I seem to be catching a detail I missed before, even if it's probably just a figment of my imagination. I see tiny hands and feet that I'm quite sure do not exist yet. I see two little confused eyes and at this point it's too late; my imagination has taken on a life of its own.

I find myself wondering how is it possible that I already love this creature so much when I know it's going to give me hell for the months to come. "I already love you," I whisper to the picture, and in this moment I realize that I'm not alone as I think. This baby is with me. It can't hug me, talk to me or sooth me, but it's here and the thought alone cheers me up instantly.

If only things were easier… My mind projects images, flashes of a future that's still unknown. I see Will with the newborn baby in his arms and I burst into laughter at his clumsiness. I'm sure he would love this baby, he would be an amazing father. There is this caring, protective side of him not many know. For most of the people he's just the lawyer with a nice face and not so nice reputation, the man who puts his career above everything else. The truth couldn't be any more different. I miss the soft Will. I know he's still there, hidden under the thick layer of hatred and grudge. I try to imagine our life together with a baby and the picture is perfect, in my fantasies at least. The reality is… how is the reality? I don't know. Between me and the reality there are a few miles and my fears.

I caress the picture and sigh, shaking my head in resignation. Today or tomorrow, or even in one month, I won't be ready anyway. I have no idea how to tell Will. What will I do? Knock on his door and show him the picture? Tell him I'm pregnant and let him draw the conclusions? Or maybe I can take it in a roundabout way; ask him to give ourselves another chance then I drop the bomb? _Uhm… No, this is entirely stupid_.

In the end, I don't know what crosses my mind – the need to know, I guess? - but I stand up, with absolute calm because there is nobody around to catch me if I pass out. I pause briefly in front of the mirror to check my image. I'm sort of a disaster so I try to comb my hair roughly with my fingers. I'm well aware that it's far from enough, but also that a nice lipstick won't make the avowal easier.

Minutes later, all my nerves twitch in anxiety as I stretch my arm to knock at Will's door. I try to swallow down the growing panic as I hear his unhurried steps nearing. My stomach twines and for a moment I fear I'm going to throw up right here. I inhale all the air I can take in to calm down as the door unlocks in front of me, then breathe out. I see Will's expression go from slightly annoyed – probably by the presence of an unexpected guest at his door – to dumbstruck in the space of a second, until eventually he's back wearing that cold mask he seems to reserve for me alone.

"Hey," I hurry to say while I'm still under the effect of the deep breath.

I watch as he gapes a couple of times before being able to say something. "Hey."

I stay there, staring down at the doormat for a moment because I can't meet his gaze, and when I look back up at him, he's still there, his eyes fixed on me in expectation. He doesn't invite me in and I can't blame him; the last time I was here was the night I got pregnant. After that, we reached a new bottom. "We need to talk," I tell him, resolute in the appearance but inside I'm trembling. He might as well say no and close the door in my face. Instead, I see him sigh lightly, then open the door enough to let me in. I loosen up inside, for the first obstacle is gone, but I still don't have a plan. And I still don't know what I really want. He follows me in and stops at a safe distance, his arms crossed on his chest. He eyes me up and down discreetly and I wonder if he's taking note of how messy I look. The glacial silence makes me shiver. "I…" I have to say it, no-frills, just the simple and necessary truth, but words fail under his aloof attitude. The image of him with the baby in his arms comes back flashing in front of me. I hint a smile but I'm not sure Will even notices. I put one hand in my jacket's pocket and feel the smooth paper of the picture under the touch of my fingers. I slip it out and stare at it for a brief moment. It's all I need to gather the courage to go on. Will's brows are knitted in confusion. I see his gaze shift from me to the picture, back to me again. "I… We… I'm pregnant…" I finally offload, and inwardly I can feel my heart unwind a bit in relief. My arm quivers as I stretch it to hand him the picture. Our hands brush lightly as he takes the picture and fixes it in what I'm sure it's plain shock. "It's… it's yours." I add for no reason, because my presence here makes the paternity obvious.

He doesn't take his eyes off of the image, as he takes a few unsteady steps towards the couch and sits down. I don't say anything else. I give him the time to soak up the piece of news and drain the shock; I need it too. In my perfect dreams, he would be laughing in happiness and covering me with kisses, telling me how excited he is and how much he loves us. But his face that clouds pulls me back down to the reality of our failures, of the misunderstandings and blames that piled up till they crashed down on our relationship. If I could go back in time I'd change so many things, but I can't.

Will furrows his brows in that pained way I know all too well. I want to yell at him to say something, anything; but in the end, it took me a whole night of tears only to get used to the idea, I can't expect him to jump for joy, I can't expect him to be happy in the first place, even though it's his baby and for some reason I was hoping for a different reaction.

Yet, somewhere deep inside of me I find the courage to walk to the couch and sit right next to him. My gaze lingers on the picture for the millionth time in five days. Its sight makes me smile every time. I'm tempted to lean in and rest on his shoulder but I know I'm not allowed to, not anymore. And when he doesn't seem to acknowledge my presence by his side, I have my answer; the one I was fearing. I was wrong… For some weird reason I thought he would be thrilled, how stupid of me… His first and maybe the only child he might ever have and there he is, staring at the picture, unable to say a single word to reassure me of his intentions, or of his feelings - if he still has some. "I… I'm here because I thought you had the right to know, but…" I tell him, then shrug lightly, "that's all…"

He looks up at me, his brows knit in confusion. "What?"

It's his first word since I walked in, minutes ago, and I have no idea if his _what_ is meant to be disappointment or lack of understanding. All I know is that when I left my apartment to come here I had an entirely different scenario in my mind.

I make myself clear, so he knows that I don't have any expectation. I hold back the lump in my throat as I choose the words that will kill my dream of a happy family and I wonder when exactly that dream formed in my mind. Somewhere between staring at the picture and driving here I guess, but I'm not sure. I suspect it's probably been in the back of my mind – actually of my heart - since the very beginning. How could I even think that it would be so simple? "You don't have to… to be a father or… to feel responsible for this baby… I'm not asking anything of you…" I shake my head lightly and by the way he's staring at me, I can now safely assume his _what_ was disappointment.

"What does this mean?" he stands up as he pronounces these words so slowly that they hit me, one by one, in a way I'm not sure I like.

I have no idea what he wants and suddenly I have no idea what _I _want either. "What?" I asked confused.

"You came here to tell me that I'm about to become a father but you don't want me in our child's life?" His lightly pitched tone confirms my fears. I'm handling it all wrong.

I stiffen as I look up at him, then sigh to relax, at least I try. "I didn't mean that," I correct myself as I stand up too.

"Then what did you mean?"

I should have waited for his reaction before giving him the no-responsibilities speech. He's taken it all wrong, but in my defense, we have behind us more than one failed attempt in making our relationship work. "That we can't pretend to be a family when we were not even able to make it work when we were alone! A baby needs a lot, Will… Stability, serenity, two parents who don't spend their days waging war against each other," I rant, overwhelmed. I'm not sure if it's just the delicate moment or if my hormones are encouraging my emotionality. But the unpleasant turn this conversation has taken reminds me why it didn't work between us and why I was deceiving myself into thinking that this baby could make things different. We talk but we don't seem to understand each other. Nothing has changed.

Will's gaze turns cold. "You don't even wanna try?" His eyes don't even try to hide the letdown.

I misinterpreted every action, like I always do. "Try what?" I quietly pretend to not understand, but inwardly I already know what he's offering. Every single nerve is pleading for me to calm down as I tremble, both in fear and anticipation.

"To be a family, to give this baby a family," he states with resolution.

_Family_… I try to hide the thrill that hearing him say this word is causing me behind an incredulous, light laugh. I still don't know if he's doing this for me, for the baby, for himself or for some higher reason I don't know. I can't start a _family_ on the grounds of guilt and responsibilities. It's not what drove me here. It wasn't the image that led me here after days of hesitancy. I need the certainty. I need reassurance. "What makes you think that we could make it?" I shake my head and slowly start to give in. I read the longing in his eyes but it's not enough, not this time. Gazes build passion, they don't build a family.

"What I know is that we shared something special." His voice softens, and so do his eyes.

_Special_. I melt under the truth of his words, but still… "Exactly, Will… _Shared_… Past tense." I shrug. The idea that we belong to the past makes me sick at my stomach. Or it's the baby complaining for my turmoil? All I know is that as he nears me, all my certainties vacillate. _Maybe_… Under his determined gaze I'm not sure of anything anymore. "It will never work…" I insist.

I want him to prove me wrong. The bitterness and pain for the last breakup still haunts me every day. I don't want to go through that again and I wonder if a baby can create such a miracle.

"It will," he persists.

My gaze falls on the picture that he's still holding firmly in his hand. "You don't have to…" I make one last, weak attempt. But those eyes breach my heart straight to its core, leaving no doubt about his feelings.

"It's our child… I don't have to… I want to…" He whispers. "Because I love you… both…"

I close my eyes, partly in anguish but a lot more in relief. I blame the hormones again for the tears I desperately try to hold back. I know by experience that raising a child gives loads of satisfaction and joy but also way more troubles and obligations than Will can imagine. And the path to becoming parents is still long. I don't need a crystal ball to know that this pregnancy won't be a bed of roses. But as Will walks near and closes his arms tentatively around me in a protective gesture, - _I want to -_ the sound of his words have a placebo effect on me and I immediately, instinctively let go in his embrace.

"We're having a baby…" He whispers. I can't see his face but I know he's smiling.

"We're having a baby…" I repeat, as tears and laughter blend together and my dream slowly fades back into my mind.


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you once again for all the reviews and to Mike for being an awesome beta!**

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_**Monday, April 7th**_

I stir and stretch in the bed, peeved by the dim, yet annoying light. I roll on the other side to cocoon myself back into the dark but as I do, my hand hits something, or better someone. I gasp and flinch at the unexpected contact and it takes me a moment to orient myself. I'm at Will's.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," Will apologizes, as he stares at me with his eyes widened in worry.

My heart throbs as I struggle to recover from the abrupt wake up and to recollect the events. I glance around. I slept here. Now I remember. I didn't go back home last night.

We stayed up until late night to talk about the baby. He asked me so many things, about the baby, about the visit, the ultrasound… The image of his gaze lost in the picture, full of admiration, is still so lively in my thoughts. He literally bombarded me with questions and in the excitement of the moment I didn't even realize how late it had become. At some point, it was all so numbing, the exhaustion, both physical and from the emotional upheaval, was so much that finally I couldn't distinguish anymore if it was reality or some weird dream. I remember that he asked me to stay for the night and that for a moment I freaked out, panicking at how everything seemed too _perfect_; the anxiety I'm living with in these days – and that I have to hide or at least disguise - keeps me with my feet on the ground so if anything goes wrong I'm prepared.

I shake my head in an attempt to reassure him that I'm not having a heart attack or something, then lay back down, my breathing still heavy. "I'm fine," I smile. Not really. I wince and inhale deeply as I try to prevent that the morning sickness gets the better of me.

Will must notice by ailment, for he lays down beside me with concern in his eyes.

"Morning sickness," I answer quietly to his unvoiced question. He seems lightly confused and I realize how everything must be new to him. I know he has a niece but I doubt he was there during his sister's pregnancy to witness the downsides of it. He's probably mostly oblivious to both the joys and pains of having a baby and maybe it's better this way; I don't want to scare him away with the latter. Not yet, at least.

I follow his gaze as it wanders down, then lingers with apparent curiosity on my body. I smile, for I anticipate what he's wishing. His left hand moves to cover my belly with an exceptional gentleness, barely touching it, as if he's afraid he might break its precious contents. If it weren't for the constant sickness and for my breasts that start to hurt - and to an attentive eye are a bit more florid – one would never guess what's happening inside of me. His soft smile and his tentative _I love you both _spoken in an undertone last night have dissipated all my fears and convinced me that this time we could actually make it work. I cover his hand with mine and relish the attentions with bliss, deliberately overlooking that there is a whole world outside this room. It's still very early in the morning and I have at least two more hours of peace.

"It's a boy," Will says matter-of-factly.

I look at him, confused at first, for I have no idea where that comes from. "What?" I ask with a light laugh.

"It's a boy, definitely," he repeats with a decided nod.

I shrug and raise a brow in expectation.

"The Gardner name can't die. I have two sisters, I have the responsibility of bequeathing the blood lineage, so it has to be a boy," he declares with amused conviction.

I gape in disbelief at his vacillating argumentations, then burst into loud laughter. If one Gardner man already gives me such a hard time, I refuse to imagine my life with a second one. I wince again. Sickness is about to have the upper hand, it's a feeling I loathe, but I take a deep, slow breath and relax. I want this moment to last. His hand is still on my belly, warm and protective. I lean in and cover his lips with mine. I realize it's the first kiss we've shared in weeks. It's soothing, delightful, long missed… It's my way to tell him how happy and grateful I am that in spite of all the things I did to hurt us he still wants me. Me and _our_ baby.

I feel his hand make his way up, unhurriedly, caressing every inch of my side until it comes to rest on my cheek. My whole body is a tingle. I didn't know until now that it was possible to miss someone's touch so deeply, but at the same time I'm scared by an intimacy I'm not used to anymore, even more in my current state. But his hand, apparently unwilling to leave my face, kind of reassures me that sex is not even remotely crossing his mind right now. I'm positive he's still high and over-thrilled for the baby news to think about anything else. Soon enough he'll land back from wherever he's floating and will start wondering how we should handle the whole situation; but until then it's far from me to say anything to spoil his euphoria. I can shoulder enough worries for the both of us. After all, isn't that exactly what I did for the last two weeks? I part my lips slightly, every cell of my body raves as Will accepts my invitation for a _real_ kiss. I lapse into his deepening passion, letting myself go. And that's my biggest mistake.

I feel nausea rising and I leap up, then run to the bathroom as fast as I can and shut the door behind me. _Damn morning sickness!_ I didn't have the time to witness Will's reaction but I'm sure I scared the hell out of him. I curse the ill-timing for crushing such an idyllic moment, as I kneel on his ceramic floor in what has become my unwelcome morning ritual. I hear a light knock at the door.

"Alicia… are you okay?" Will's voice is entirely terrified.

I don't want him to see me like this. "I'm fine," I reassure, hopefully loud enough for him to actually hear me. "It's… nothing…"

Still in a state, I struggle to stand back up, then let the water run to wash away the sickness from my face, knowing it's not even close to be enough.

"I'm coming in…" Will says, resolute, and I don't protest.

The door opens behind me and I see his concerned, caring gaze in the mirror. I smile reassuringly at his reflection, then turn around to face him and lean against the counter for support. I'm still a tad wobbly. "Welcome to my pleasant morning call," I shrug ironically.

His forehead is frowned as he walks up and stops only inches from me. "I'm sorry," he whispers.

I don't know if he's sorry because I'm being sick or for the unconventional, inconvenient and definitely complex situation we got ourselves into. But this is definitely the moment he lands back on earth. I invite him with my gaze to look down at my belly and I smile, reminding him silently that whatever we go through from now on is for this baby, thus worth every pain, sacrifice or sickness.

"We'll need a plan," he says, gravely.

I nod. "Yep, we'll do." My mind does a mental inventory of all the people involved. Grace first, this might hit her hard; Zach; Peter and his career; and Cary… what will happen to Florrick & Agos? I have no idea, and I realize this is the worst moment. And the cases we share? Wouldn't this make for a gigantic conflict of interest in the trials? Will would be held back by my condition... It can't work… Suddenly all my worries are back, clear and distinct. It's my landing too.

"Stop the gears, I can hear them spinning from outside here," Will jokes, as he takes my hands and gently moves them behind my back, until his body is almost pressed against mine. I close my eyes and enjoy the light kisses he offers on repeat. "We'll come up with a plan… _together_."

_Together_.

For the moment, I'm more than content to know that he's there for me, for _us_. For a plan there is still plenty of time. What I need now is a good shower and a change of clothes; though I slept in one of Will's shirts, I can't show up in court wearing jeans and a sweater. The judge would kick me out before I can reach the defense table. "Can I use your shower?" I plead him.

"Of course, be my guest," he says with a smile, as he places a last kiss on my forehead then leaves. My head spins at how fast things seem to be changing. I'm on cloud nine but panic-stricken at the same time if I think about the still unpredictable and precarious future ahead of us. I repeat Will's last word to infinity. _Together. Together. Together. _I have to make sure I never forget it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you once again for all your wonderful reviews ^_^ And thanks to my beta Mike for handling my compulsive writing magnificently!**

**Also, earlier update this week due to begging from both Mary and Josie. Don't get used to it :D**

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_**Tuesday, April 8th**_

I startle in fright as someone repeatedly shakes my arm, calling my name. It's Grace. I must have fallen asleep on the couch again and now I feel terribly dizzy.

"Cary on the phone for you," she says as she hands me the phone.

I mouth a thank you then squint to try and read my wristwatch. It's only a little past eight in the evening and I already feel so tired. I struggle to keep my eyes open, until Cary's alarmed tone wakes me up from my unplanned nap.

"Bishop's leaving us," he says very concisely. His voice is trembling.

Three words that make me chill. It can't be true. I must be still sleepy and have caught his words wrong. "What?" I sit up, now completely awake and in utter shock. Why on earth should he want to leave? I'm unable to find a single stupid, even illogical reason for him to doubt our reliability. Yes, our finances might not be really bright, but he's our most pampered client and the last one we would ever let go.

"Bishop's leaving us and you don't wanna know where he's going."

He doesn't need to tell me. So they managed to reclaim him. In the end, Will and David Lee poached their golden goose back. I swallow down the growing panic. This is a catastrophe. Bishop and Sweeney are our most prestigious clients – up to the point where a drug dealer and a multiple murderer can be considered prestigious – and the first to follow me and Cary in our leap. Actually, Sweeney spurred us on and supported us with every possible means and the thought of losing one of the two terrifies me because it might lead the second to do the same, sensing the fallout. I sigh and lean back.

"Do you think there might be something behind it?" he asks.

Behind it? "What do you mean?" I shrug, I have no idea what he's driving at.

"That Bishop would never leave us like this. Only Friday he had gotten me two new potential clients!" He raises his voice a bit and I get all of his frustration, yet I'm more confused than ever.

"Which potential clients? Cary, what are you talking about?" I wave my hand in the air to give vent to all my confusion. I'm lost.

"Alicia…" I hear him take a breath, hopefully to calm down, "I don't know what's going on, but you are absent and not only physically lately and you don't see that it's all going to shit. He came to me last Friday to introduce me to two friends of his. Then last night he called me to say that they changed their mind and today I find out from Robyn that they met Will and company in the afternoon."

I freeze. I close my eyes and shake my head firmly to shake away the doubt that Will might have something to do with it. I refuse to believe that he might be taking advantage of my condition to undermine my already vacillating firm. I panic for a moment, I can't tell anything to Cary. I have to face Will first. Suddenly all the old misunderstandings reemerge with vehemence. I have to sit down. I feel betrayed, no actually backstabbed. And I know I have no right, for I did it first. But the thought that Will might use me or the baby makes me sick in my stomach, not after Sunday night, not after the happiness I read in his eyes. "I need to make a call," I cut it short.

My hands are shaking. I stand up and lock myself in my bedroom. I can't have this conversation in the living room, especially under Grace's astonished look. I hardly manage to dial the number, and as I hear his voice on the other end I don't give him the time to anticipate me. "What the hell are you doing?" I articulate every single word to make sure they reach their destination with all their load of anger and disillusion.

"What?" He sounds confused and I have no idea if he's faking well or just doesn't know what I'm talking about.

"What the hell does this story with Bishop mean?" I voice all my indignation. And the silence I meet in return is not reassuring.

"Alicia…" His voice seems uncertain.

I take advantage of his stumbling and stop him before he can come up with an excuse. "No. Will. Just no. Tell me you didn't really do what I think … Tell me that what happened this weekend didn't become a weapon against me!" I pace back and forth, nervously, I'm sure I'm about to throw up.

"What are you talking about?"

"You know perfectly well what I'm talking about!" I yell. I realize I might be losing control. I'm probably exaggerating things and it's too late to step back. I just accused Will of using me and our baby to sink my firm. This is crazy. This is entirely insane.

"Tell me you are kidding… You don't really think it…" He mutters in what sounds like real disbelief.

I bring my free hand to my face and cover it in shame. "I… I don't know what I think! All I know is that one day I tell you I'm pregnant and the next Bishop clears out, what should I think?" My accusatory tone leaves place to what in my mind sounds like an attempt to eat my words.

"Here we go again, don't we? Nothing changed… The whole world plots against you… me included…" Will says with a resignation that floods me with guilt.

I keep doing it. I keep reading everything wrong. I keep reading _him_ wrong, which makes me feel even worse. I don't know why I do it, but I know that I hate it.

"I didn't poach Bishop, David Lee did… and if you want an explanation, the person you should call is in Springfield…" I freeze, right on the spot.

Springfield. "What are you talking about?" I don't know where I found the voice to ask him something I'm sure I don't want to know.

"I'm talking about that single person who was supposed to keep your husband's affair under the radar." The news hit me like a knife.

Eli. How could he? I have to sit back on the bed before I collapse for real.

"Now you calm down," he invites me, soothingly. "Then, we can talk about it." I nod, though I know he can't see me. I want to apologize but right now every word would sound contrived. Will is right. I have to calm down first. I hang up and throw the phone on the mattress in frustration. I feel a stab of pain. Damn cramps. It's more painful than the other times. I hold my tummy and lay down on the bed. It lasts a moment but it's intense like never before. It seems more like a contraction. I realize I'm still shaking. I need to calm down, breathe and maybe get a warm bath. This should help me. I walk out of my room and as I do, Grace is in front of me with an astonished gaze. I'm about to apologize, to tell her that everything is fine, but then… I catch something in her eyes that goes well beyond mere astonishment. Only now I become aware of what I did. Or better what I said.

"You… you are pregnant?" I'm not sure if she looks more shocked, betrayed or disgusted.

All I know is that she doesn't give me the time to answer. She turns her back on me and locks herself in her room. This is not how it should be, not how I planned to tell her. And if she heard the rest of the conversation, she knows that it's not Peter's… I stop in front of her door. I'm about to knock, but on second thought, maybe I shouldn't… She needs her time, like I needed mine, like Will needed his as well. I exhale all my sorrow. I'm messing up everyone's life already. Exactly what I swore I would never do.

Later that night, I'm in my bed, wide awake. I stare at the phone for an unbelievable amount of time before finding the guts to call Will and apologize for my rash accusations. I'm quite sure that this is what caused our relationship to breakdown in the first place; the sort of need to attack and accuse before the other can do it. It's a lawyer thing I guess. We are so used to defending clients that we probably end up counterbalancing with too many accusations in our private life. I don't even know how it started. Maybe it became a defense mechanism for me because of Peter and his affairs, feeling betrayed. Being dragged through the public eye by the media. Maybe, but, I blame the hormones this time, it's good to know that for the months to come I can blame mother nature for every brash word that leaves my mouth or for every insane action I might commit. I feel a bit for Will; he has no idea how it is to deal with a pregnant woman, except probably for Patti Nyholm.

When we say goodnight, roughly half an hour later, I'm left with a bitter feeling. I'm relieved by his understanding but I know that I've just hurt him for no rational motive. I wish I still had the picture of the baby so I could stare at it to lift me up. But I left it with Will, and he has no way of knowing that it is the only one.

I'm about to turn off the light when I hear a light knock at the door. I know it's Grace. I sit up straight and invite her in. It's time we have this conversation.

She looks hurt, disappointed. Not that I can blame her. "I hadn't planned for you to find out in this way," I whisper my apology. I tap lightly on the mattress in the hope she takes my invitation to join me on the bed, and when she moves a few tentative steps in my direction I smile inwardly in relief. As soon as she's at arms' length I hug her close.

"Is it true?" she asks, probably in need of a confirmation that she really understood my words.

I nod, and as I do I smile softly. I love this baby and feel that if Grace senses it, maybe it will be easier for her to accept it.

"I thought you had broken up with Will…" She is puzzled and rightly so.

I look up at the ceiling, searching for an easy way to explain our complicated relationship to her but there is none. The breakdown for our last breakup had been so devastating that I couldn't hide it from Grace. She has seen my tears and she's probably wondering how we ended up with a baby in the middle. "We had," I confirm with a light nod… "It's just… things are complicated between us… they have always been…" I shrug.

"Then… what will you do? Are you… back together?" She shrugs, plainly confused.

"Sort of… we decided to give it another try…" Another try that is not really working in the best way right now but it's far from me to share this with her.

"Do dad and Zach know?" she looks up at me.

I tense a bit. "Not yet," I admit, "but I will tell them soon, either…."

"Is that why you are always sick?" she asks, a brow raised as if she's getting the missing link.

I nod. I was sure I did a bad job in hiding it from her. "But it won't last long… a couple of months," I reassure her. Maybe more, if bad luck haunts me.

Grace seems so lost. I can't really tell her that the next months will be a bed of roses. I can't lie more than I already did. I kiss her on her forehead and whisper. "We all will need time to adjust to this situation, we… I never meant to create such a mess in your lives, but it happened and in one way or another we will have to deal with it…"

"Are you happy?" Her serious tone requires an honest answer.

"I…" I was crying only a couple of weeks ago. "Now I am…" In the end, shock aside, I was more shaken and worried by the state of my non-existent relationship with Will. I was afraid I would end up raising this baby alone. My hand slides down to caress my belly. I smile. I'm happy that I don't have to hide it from Grace anymore. I look up at her. She's not on cloud nine, but the disappointed, reproachful gaze seems gone.

"Now what happens?" Her innate ability to come up with the most difficult questions never misses a shot.

I shrug. "We try to keep this private for a little longer." I know the risks are high for the first three months, but I don't want to worry her. "Then we will make every decision together."

She nods and I'm not sure that's the answer she was expecting but right now it's all I have to offer; the promise to never leave her aside. She looks away, she seems lost in thought and for a moment I'm afraid she comes up with some other question I don't have an answer for. She remains silent, and I give her the time she needs to take in the events of the night. When she looks back at me, I'm already prepared for the worst.

"Can I have a sister?" Her tone is serious but I catch the hint of a glistening in her eyes.

I just stare at her for a moment, unsure what to answer, but I burst into an uncontrolled laughter. I was ready for everything, but not for this one. "You'll have to fight with Will about that," I nod amused, still half laughing, "he wants a boy." I roll my eyes and laugh again as I remember the conversation we had only a couple of days ago.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Thursday, April 10th**_

When I enter the courtroom this morning I'm restless. Facing Will again, with all that happened over the last days, gives me an anxiety I can't define. I have no idea what to expect; whether he's going to be the same combative Will or a softer version of him. But Diane's presence behind the front line isn't promising of anything good.

I give my best in questioning his key witness, I still don't know where I find the energy. In spite of the usual lingering nausea, I'm all wound up. Maybe it's the little pieces that are slowly falling into place in my life that give me back the strength and confidence I had lost. I make the woman on the stand regret the day she agreed to witness for them and when she's about to crawl… I have a slip like never before that makes me freeze on the spot. I bite my lip forcefully and start the countdown to Will's objection. 3… _I'm doomed_. 2… _How could I be so distracted?_ 1… _Here we go_. Instead, nothing.

I falter slightly as I resume my questioning, confused but not totally surprised by Will's lack of promptness. My eyes throw a discreet, nonchalant glance in his direction and it's clear by his expression that he knew he could object but chose not to. I state to the judge that I have no further questions, my head straight to keep up the appearance, and as I turn to sit back at my table I meet Diane's gaze for a millisecond. She still hates me for what I did, months ago, she probably always will and though I know she has every right I don't think it's opportune for her to know the real reasons behind my choice. She thinks it was merely professional and it's far from me to break through the façade. She would never understand, even less accept the personal involvement. After all, I caused him nothing but trouble; the Grand Jury, the suspension, the professional betraying. Her protectiveness towards her firm partner is something I will never overcome, no matter how much I try. But if the glance she spares to me is glacial, the one she gives Will right after could burn him into ashes. The situation is taking a turn for the worse and I'm already envisioning the harsh exchange that will follow between them.

I feel responsible for Will's failure, for I know he was protecting me, but Diane has no idea of the gigantic conflict of interest who's growing inside of me. As the judge adjourns the session, I see her leave the court with impatient steps and when she's out of sight I'm finally allowed to lock eyes with Will, even if only for a brief moment. I silently apologize for what's to come. He won't tell her. I know he won't. And I feel bad because he has to find an excuse for my false step that he didn't take advantage of.

I knew it would be complicated but in my naiveté I believed I had more time to get accustomed to the changes in my life. Instead, everything is happening so fast and most of the times I don't have the chance to ponder my options, like with Grace.

Later at night I call him to hush the concern for his face-off with Diane. He seems so calm on the phone, but he always does, he's a master at hiding his problems. I remember when he had to face the Grand Jury - it seems like an eternity has passed since then – and how I was oblivious to everything until Diane put me in front of the consequences of our affair.

"It's getting complicated," he notices.

"I thought it was already," I joke, but I know what he means.

"It's getting… _more_ complicated."

I hear his half laugh on the other end and I smile, a bit bitterly because the accident in court is still quite vivid in my eyes. "I'm sorry for this morning," I almost whisper.

"I'm adult and vaccinated," he says with a shadow of pride. I hear him chuckle. I imagine him wincing in amusement and I find myself doing the same.

"I'm sure Diane wouldn't agree with either of those," I observe. My words and soft laugh interlace, making my voice tremble.

"Probably," he laughs. "I think she thinks we are back to our old affair."

My mouth drops open in astonishment. "She thinks what?"

"She didn't say it openly but her warning against _personal involvement_ made it rather explicit," he gives away.

_Personal involvement._ I wonder what made her believe that. We've been on the outs since the day Cary and I left Lockhart & Gardner. Then, at second thought, I remember how good we were in the past at faking to be at odds to conceal our relationship. With all that's being going on between us lately, I would probably think it too.

"How did we get ourselves into such hot water?" Will sighs.

I pause in fake pensiveness and stare for a moment at the ceiling. "I don't think you need a reminder of that night," I kid in a low voice, careful that Grace doesn't hear me. I take a moment to bask into the memory of the moments we shared. We had pretty good ones. The night I told him that we were good together, at the police station, I really meant it. "Will…"

"Yes?" he whispers.

"I didn't… I never wanted us to end up like this," I say, in my own bad way to apologize for the mess I left behind and for the mess we still have ahead of us.

"With a baby?" he asks, and I know he's joking, up to a certain point.

I laugh. I know very well how we ended up with a baby. "So… distant… I made a mess of us…"

"I did too," Will adds, maybe just to share a bit of my sense of guilt.

I burned down so many bridges; I'm glad I'm given the chance to rebuild the one I cared for the most. My gaze shifts down and rest on my belly, so does my hand. It's always a warm feeling and in some way, it's like having part of Will here with me; I'm never alone. "I miss you," I murmur, and I'm honest like I haven't been in a long while. When on the other end I meet a moment of silence I'm pretty sure that Will is silently savoring my words. For once I'm making a step in a direction meant to bring us close and not to rip us apart like I always seem to do. I don't want to be misunderstood or leave anything unsaid anymore. I know that this is exactly what tore us apart, together with my heavy baggage of fears. Those same fears that led me to make my biggest mistakes in life; and especially now, with this baby, with _our_ baby, I want to do – or at least try to do – everything right.

"I miss you too," he whispers eventually. "How is Grace handling it by the way?"

"I start to realize how much she has grown up." Day after day, she's less and less someone to shield from the world and more and more someone I can always rely on. "I'm sure she's still shocked, but she seems thrilled and it's a relief that I don't have to hide it from her anymore," I admit with a light exhale. "I hate it when I have to keep things secrets from her."

"I know," Will agrees.

And the thought of Grace moves my thoughts to the rest of the family, reminding me that someone else will have a hard time dealing with it, maybe less personally – at least I hope – but definitely a lot career-wise. "Peter will be in Chicago next weekend," I say, almost with nonchalance. But I'm sure Will knows what's hidden behind my words. It's a confrontation that for some reason I fear. My stomach knots in anxiety as I already anticipate Peter's response. If his actions can be concealed, mine will start to show very soon. A child with the man he loathes the most. I hoped he would come to terms with that one day, but I was wrong and I understand him. How do you deal with the woman who's been your wife for twenty years being in love with someone else? If it were the reverse, if he had fallen for Marilyn, I would probably have ended up heartbroken, too. And his career… I have no idea what will happen, I don't know how all the people who voted for him will take it. What a weird nation we are, still stuck in the false moral of the perfect family façade. It seems like it's the only thing that matters.

"Will you tell him?" he asks.

Will's voice pulls me back from my flash-forward. I sigh and nod, though Will can't see me. "Yes, before the news starts to spread unbeknown to me. And I have to discuss everything with Eli anyway." I'm still mad at him for Bishop and for making use of confidential information. No wonder Bishop dropped us. If Peter's affair were leaked to the press it would be a new and inevitable scandal. What people can't know is that back when it all happened we were already separated. A detail that the press will ignore, like they always do. Add to it that the Governor's wife is pregnant with her former boss and the picture will be sharks-worth. We thought that to keep the separation private was the most convenient solution for both. We both had our interest; Peter's image was candid in front of the State and I had my own professional advantage. Now it's all coming back to us. I realize it was the most stupid thing we could do, especially in light of having to protect this baby from an unpleasant notoriety. In the end, the history always repeats.

"Everything will be fine," he reassures me.

It's a good attempt, and I'm sure he's right. But the obsession of what still separates us from _being fine_ unsettles me. "I don't want to deal with the press again." I sound resigned.

"Who does ever want it?" he asks with a resigned tone.

I smile as I remember the image that the press had of him I and laugh lightly. "_You_ complain about the press, Mr. Bachelor?" I tease him about his main ground for embarrassment. I know he doesn't like that kind of publicity but his faux-shy faces are always worth a reminder of his masculine notoriety. I'll never get tired of poking fun at him. He laughs and I can picture him shake away the humiliating memory with his hand.

A yawn escapes me against my will and I try to muffle it covering my mouth. It's way past my bedtime, or better, way past my pregnant-bedtime, but I don't want this call to end.

"You should go to sleep… both of you," he invites me.

_Muffling failed_.

"Yes, _we_ should…" I agree a tad reluctantly, though entertained by his choice of plural. I yawn again, this time I don't even try to hide it. I'm exhausted with good chances to fall asleep on the phone. "Night, Will…" I whisper with the little energy I'm still left with. His answer reaches me already muffled by the half sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

_**Saturday, April 12th**_

To convince Grace that she could leave for the weekend serenely was one of the hardest tasks I ever had to deal with. If I have to be honest I am the one not serene. She's spending the weekend away for the first time with her new boyfriend and I'm a bundle of nerves. Not that I don't trust her, but I'm not yet sure that I can trust the guy. The last few days have been all about me and as much as I love the idea of being protected and cuddled I don't want to lose control of what happens around me, first and foremost in my daughter's life.

The fact that my cramps got worse during the last couple of days just made it even more of a challenge to convince her that I'm fine, just tired and in need of rest. And if the sickness and my tense, stinging breasts are any indication – and I know they are - this baby is definitely fine, too.

Yesterday morning when I checked my lingerie drawer I had a moment of depression. I sat on the edge of the bed and went through my most sexy underwear. Laces, embroidery, nothing that my body could tolerate and probably nothing I could slip into anyway. Half of my clothes would give away my pregnancy only with a quick look at my cleavage. The other half will stop fitting me in a few weeks. It's the downside of my decision to spice up my wardrobe back when my story with Will started, ages ago. All my skin can bear now is cotton and no-frills silk – it could have been worse – so I opted for the latter and yesterday on my way back home I went for a round of shopping, something that Grace seems to find entirely amusing.

Speaking of… I freaked out at the news that my mother has promised to shop with Grace again. The last time they did I had to argue with Grace about the inappropriateness for a teenager of at least half of the lingerie they bought. Those two together are quickly becoming an explosive mix and sometimes I sense they might team up behind my back. I have a hard time keeping them at bay. But on a positive note, I noticed that since the day I called my mother – the morning after finding out I was pregnant – she seems to enjoy more and more to spend time with us instead of hanging around with a different _boyfriend_ every day. She will never admit it, but I suspect she missed playing grandma with Zach and Grace back when they were children and wants to stick around for this one. I'm not sure it's a good thing though, I dread she might turn into a Jackie-version of herself and I know I have to set some limits while I still can. At least try to, for I'm sure that buying lingerie for Grace is well beyond those limits.

I wander like a tormented soul in the living room. Will should be here at any minute. It wasn't planned for him to stay at my place for the weekend, because I know for sure that he has an important trial session on Monday. But it was the only way to make Grace stop worrying about me being home alone, after the state I came back home in last night from the office.

I knew that Bishop's defection was bound for an inevitable fight with Cary. He blames me for being absent. He hinted, though very covertly, that I'm paving my way out of our firm, that I know more than I share. Can I blame him? Not really. But he has his nice part of blames too. His insistence for me to join the rebellion has always been more about Peter's influence and Sweeney's soft spot for me than for real esteem. I always knew it, but my desperate need to put some distance between me and Will was clearly bigger than my pride. I often wonder if I made a mistake. If this experience is teaching me something, it's that I have limits.

The doorbell rings, ending my moment of commiseration. I hurry to open the door to Will and when I meet his soft smile I forget all my troubles. He greets me with a delicate kiss and I welcome his gesture of affection, though for a moment everything feels awkward. Him being here; I can't even remember the last time he walked through my door, let alone with a smile on his face.

"How are you doing?" he asks me with that veiled concern typical of every word he addressed to me over the last days.

My nose lightly wrinkled in nausea is more eloquent than any word. He smiles as he takes off his leather jacket – I had forgotten how much I like him when he's dressed casually – and takes a few steps in my direction. It's clear from his look that he feels my same uncertainty, my same where-do-we-go-from-here anxiety. The idea that we have roughly seven months to adjust back to each other is reassuring and worrisome at the same time. Time is on our side, but we are also unbelievably good at hurting each other at the speed of light. In seven months anything can happen. Now that I think about it, that's how long our affair lasted the first time around. The parallel is amusing, but a bit disturbing at the same time.

It takes us a good fifteen minutes to overcome the initial uneasiness. Both sitting on the couch, we can't seem to get past the trivialities. I'm quite sure that it has a lot to do with our fear of being misunderstood, of misinterpreted signs and words; our past harm seems to be keeping us guarded with – and against - each other. How can you know if once the ice is broken you find a warm fireplace or taste the freezing water underneath? And on more than one occasion, the first led to the second, keeping us stuck above water. "This conversation is certainly one of the most embarrassing we've ever had," I joke at some point, half-laughingly.

Will bursts into laughter. "Definitely the worst I can remember," he nods.

At least we agree that our lost synchrony is something to laugh about. It's a sign that maybe it's not completely gone, but just mislaid.

I have only a blurry memory of all our long talks, but I'm sure that none looked awkward and forced like the one we are having now. Our shared passion for law used to drag us into the most disparate debates, usually leading to the most glowing sex; two different kinds of passion melting together in a fiery, mind-blowing combination. Will we ever be back like that? The current state of lethargy and sickness, combined with the hormonal ebb and flow, put me in a depressed mood most of the time so I know it's definitely unfitting for me to ponder such considerations now. _Will we ever be back like that?_ The question is stuck in my head. My mischievous memory keeps picking random images from a past that I miss and that right now I'm not sure I'll ever get back, rerouted by diapers, baby bottles and sleepless nights. I've been there twice, I know very well how it works. And age is not really playing on my side this time.

"Alicia?"

I jump slightly, as I realize that my mind started a flash-forward trip in a near future I'd better ignore for now. Will's voice rescues me just in time before my apprehension can grow into panic. "What?"

"You weren't even listening to me," he says with a resigned exhale. But his light laugh reassures me that he's not holding it against me.

Still, I'm sure that guilt is carved on my face. I have no idea what he was talking about and I can't really throw a random guess. "I'm sorry…" It's all I manage to say. When I see his face grow serious, I already know he's up for a prickly dialog.

"We should talk," he murmurs.

His request doesn't surprise me. _Talk_. This word always scares me. Suddenly, our initial attempt at a conversation sounds like a symphony orchestra. I curl up and move my hand so it rests on my belly. I can feel my inside tense up, making my belly hard and a bit painful under my touch. A light contraction. I breathe and focus back. I'm well aware that everything revolves around this baby.

"About _us_," he points out.

And the way he emphasizes the _us_ leads me back to his words when I told him that I was pregnant. His 'I love you both' sometimes - often - pops in during my few moments of quietness. I know he means them, but I also know that he wouldn't be sitting on my couch, a few inches from me, if it weren't for the unforeseen outcome of our last and desperate act of passion. It's a reality I can't blot out. "I destroyed everything we had… everything we _were_," I look down as I admit it, for the first time since the first fallout. It's still vivid in my mind, more than I actually want to; the way he dashed into my office with his eyes blinded by fury, the destructive surge he unloaded on my desk and on everything that was lying on it, the hurt he couldn't hide as he reminded me of everything that he did for me and that I betrayed. That was the moment I realized it was the end of everything. It was what I wanted, but when my wish became reality I wasn't ready to face the consequences. When I look back up, I can see that same hurt in his. That moment is clearly still vivid in his memory too.

"I shouldn't have cornered you," he says as his gaze slowly makes its way down and alights on my belly. I don't know if he means it or is just trying to share some of my blame. I assume the second, since we are making a shy attempt at honesty, and his words brings me back to the election night. Cornered is the right word to define the emotional grip of finding no way out of my feelings for him. I was desperate, and when you are desperate you end up taking desperate measures. I had blindly believed it was the best for both.

I feel like roles have somewhat switched and I am the one who's cornering him now, but it's pointless to mention my fears, for I know he'd deny anyway. The few words we share in the quiet of my apartment resound, bringing with them the echo of all the unspoken admissions behind them. Our gazes keep easing up and down between our faces and the discreet guest who's silently witnessing our confessions. It's like we are admitting our faults to this baby instead of to each other. It's easier to deal with them, though I'm not sure it's entirely fair towards our child.

I sigh and try to relax. It's not much progress, actually it's not even remotely close to be enough, but it's a beginning. I slowly lean towards Will, then let myself rest against him, almost unthinkingly, as my head ensconces on his shoulder. I breathe both the familiar scent of his cologne and the comfort of his proximity. It's a feeling I've missed, and it's soothing to know that I don't have to hide my feelings for him anymore. Not with him at least. I'm still guarded yes, but for once I'm striving to build something instead of destroying it.

The Saturday goes by lazily. I'm tired most of the day so during my naps Will has all the time he needs to work on his case. I stare at him sleepily from the couch as he goes through a pile of paper thick enough to make me shudder. He takes notes, fiddles with the pen and carries his hand to his forehead in resignation a few times. I can't help but smile sweetly at the memory of all the times I walked in front of his office and found him in that same posture. I used to stop in front of his closed door for a brief moment just to enjoy the sight. I'd probably trade my name partnership on any day for the chance to feel like that again.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Tuesday, April 15th**_

I quicken my pace as a rapid glance at the wristwatch warns me that I'm late for the staff meeting. I don't know what made me think that a brainstorming session this early in the morning was a good idea. Cramps kept me up all night and I feel so sick that there is the chance - not even remote - I might throw up in the middle of the meeting. What a charming scene that would be. I barely have the time to step out of the elevator before I feel my inside turning upside down again, or rather just up. I rush and lock myself into the first bathroom on the floor, just in time before my stomach gets rid of what I hope is the very last of my already scarce breakfast. When I find the balance to stand up again, I check my image in the mirror to make sure I'm at least presentable. I'm paler and feel sicker than usual and my eyes are red from both sickness and lack of sleep. I don't even know if it's only the pregnancy, the anxiety for the meeting or the flu adding to my cramps. But I have in front of me the unappealing prospect of at least one more month like this. I try to wash off the nausea from my face and when the final look is acceptable I force myself to use what little strength I have left to enter the piranhas' tank.

Cary's deep into trying to reassure the associates that the whole Bishop's mess won't have catastrophic repercussions. He acknowledges my presence with a light nod as I silently mutter a _sorry_ for my delay and throw my purse on the filing cabinet close to me. I hear someone say Eli's name and I panic inside. Cary is leaning against the wall, confident at least in appearance. He doesn't seem to react to the name, which kind of reassures me that the bit of information I'm guarding hasn't been leaked without me knowing. I need a few more days, until Peter is in Chicago for the weekend and we can discuss.

"Come on, we are left with small fry's and we all know that we can't trust Sweeney!" Anthony spits in irritation, looking around the room. His harsh comment, mixed with the frustration in his tone, makes the other associates rise up in approval.

I open my mouth, for a moment I consider intervening but I'm relieved when Cary takes a few steps towards the crew. "Sweeney is our main promoter, we _have_ to trust him. And his loyalty is not in doubt and it has never been," he reassures them with such a calm voice, and that hint of a smile that for a moment makes me believe him, until he looks at me and I feel singled out.

I know he needs my support here and I hasten to back him up. "I talked to Sweeney yesterday," I say out loud to make sure that my feeble voice covers the hubbub. "We are crying wolf for nothing, Sweeney will never leave us and you know it. Did you forget that it's thanks to him that we have a firm in the first place?" I admonish them with the bossy tone I reserve for the bad moments, and this is definitely one. I look at Anthony in disapproval; he started it all and though I know that his fears are valid, I can't permit him to spread the panic among the associates. But the result is not what I'm hoping for.

"Sweeney is here only because you are here, let's face it," he piles it on. He has a point, all the associates know it and it's pointless to deny. "What happens when you leave?"

I raise my arms open in disbelief. How did we end up talking my departure? "Sweeney is going nowhere," I insist, careful to articulate every word distinctly to distract them from the part about me leaving. I don't even know where that came from, but I can't help but worry for the upcoming weekend, for facing Peter; he has to come clean about the separation, that's the only solution, before the pregnancy becomes public, before it can become ugly. I'm stricken by a sudden sense of anxiety for what's ahead. A damn cramp makes me tighten up. My hand is already moving down when Cary's voice makes me aware of the surroundings. I clench my teeth and for a second my eyes shut in pain. I need to sit, or even better lie down, but I can't. I pray for the meeting to be over soon, for I have no excuses for leaving in the middle of this crisis. So I'm glad when Cary cunningly shifts the topic to the minor cases in progress, though I know that the discussion is not over, just postponed to the more private boundaries of my office. And so it is. When we leave the associates to their duties, Cary follows me and I gesture for him to take a seat in front of me.

"What's going on?" he asks me straight.

There's no need to take it the roundabout way between us, not when we don't have to hide the troubles from the other associates. But this time it's different, it's too personal. And when my answer is a shrugged nothing, I can read the hurt in his crystal eyes. I look down resigned. "I can't."

"I thought we fully trusted each other," he murmurs, as his gaze wanders around and outside the window.

"And we do," I confirm with a decided nod. "It's just…" I sigh in frustration. I lack for a decent way to tell him that I can't really open up. "It's complicated." This always seems to be my best answer to anything, but this time it's the truth. It's damn complicated. This pregnancy is complicated. My affective relationship with Will is complicated. My professional one with Cary is probably even worse. I hate to hide things from my name partner but at the same time I have no choice.

"Are you really planning to leave?" he asks me with a disarming bluntness.

"No, I never did," I reassure him with all the honestly I'm allowed in this moment. "I just need to slow down."

He nods in understanding but I know he's not satisfied with this scant bit of information. He's probably trying to elaborate the missing information himself and I'm kinda quiet for I'm positive that he doesn't have enough pieces to put together. I can't share anything more than this and when he stands up with a look of resignation, all I can do is to offer him a smile full of sorrow.

To calm down a bit and distract myself from everything that's happening I decide to take a short walk during my break. The good thing about our offices is that they are not stuck in the downtown's smog. The park at the end of the street is quiet and small enough to not draw too many visitors, so I head there and take a seat on a sunlit bench. I relish the pleasant feeling of the mild mid-April sun and smile. A moment for myself; it's something I'm not used to anymore. The cheerful chatter coming from the seesaws draws my attention in a delightful way. I can't help but smile at the sight of a small gathering of children, the oldest probably five or six years old. But at the same time I can't get rid of my permanent unrest. The images of my life, soon to be swallowed up by the presence of a baby, keeps alternating to the projection of all my fears. I shake my head in amused disbelief as I realize that all my need to keep this pregnancy a secret for as long as possible has been unconsciously replaced by the urge to let everyone know as soon as possible so the chaos is over and I can concentrate on what really matters; me, this baby and the ups and downs of rebuilding my relationship with Will. Sometimes I wonder how he's really handling this situation. He seems so quiet most of the time, positive like I probably will never be. In spite of how we hurt each other, he seems to have a confidence in us that always leaves me in awe. And I have no idea whether it's real confidence or just an excellent put-up, but it clearly works. Slowly, with baby steps, I know things are moving in the right direction.

When the working day is over, I call Grace to warn her that I'll be slightly late so she doesn't panic if I'm not home before dinner. I'm not even sure what I'm doing in front of Will's door. It's a need, an undefined urgency. I crave to see him. It's relatively early by his standards and he's probably not even home. Still, I give it a try and knock lightly, twice, like I used to do in the past, and when I hear the dull sound of his bare footsteps approaching, my heart skips a beat in an adolescent excitement.

The surprise as he sees me standing there is etched on his face. It's a happy-that-you-are-here kind of surprise that warms me inside. And when he opens the door wider to welcome me in, I smile softly at how it feels like being back home.

"I was just… I was going home and thought I'd pop in for a moment," I explain, so he knows that I'm not staying.

I don't look away. I watch as he nods lightly and walks a couple of steps in my direction. He still has the power to make me weak and turn me upside down by only being near me; it scares me, intense as it is.

"I'm glad you decided to _pop in_," he smiles. "How was your day?" he asks with a bit concern.

I'm sure that tiredness shows on my face but I don't want to unload on to him all the troubles of my young and frail firm; actually I think I shouldn't share with him this kind of problem at all. He's still my bitter enemy in the end, though I can safely assume it's only professionally now. "Good," I simply say, "yours?" I can feel that same hint of awkwardness that kept us company for the first part of the weekend. It's like we are still testing the boundaries and not really sure how to act around each other. In the space of a couple of weeks we went from razing each other in every possible way to sharing a child. To call it destabilizing would be the understatement of the century.

"Good," he repeats.

This time I am the one taking a few steps to reduce the distance between us. I stop right in front of him, close enough to feel his warmth but not for our bodies to touch. I feel my knees go weak under his penetrating stare. Did it always feel like that? Is that the reason why I left? All I remember is that I couldn't trust myself around him anymore. He was starting to encroach in my dreams and the only way to cast him out of my nights was to have him out of my days. I see his gaze slide down and his smile soften as his stare lingers on my abdomen.

"When will it start to show?" he whispers. I catch a light glint in his eyes that makes me rejoice.

I quickly do the math. "In a month, maybe more." I silently hope and pray for the latter. Because my slim figure and my wardrobe won't allow me to hide it for long.

"It's… soon," he observes with a bit of anxiety.

I nod. I think he's realizing what that entails. Only one month before everyone else will know, before our professional lives will collide in a conflict of interest, before my associates will start to say _I knew it_. I already feel the pressure of this physical deadline.

And speaking of deadlines, I suddenly remember that I have to fix my next visit in a couple of weeks and this time I want to make it right. "I have another doctor visit in a couple of weeks," I tell him before it gets lost in my absent-mindedness.

Will's face clouds in a worried grimace. "Is everything alright?"

I laugh softly and shake my head at the realization that he knows nothing of how it works. "I'm fine," I reassure him, "_we_ are fine. It's the routine. Doctor wants to check me and the baby every month."

His features relax in relief and I smile amused. I have to keep in mind that everything is new for him.

"I thought… I thought you might want to come with me," I offer him.

I watch as he opens his mouth a few times but fails to say even a single coherent word. For a moment I'm not sure if he's searching for a polite way to decline or he's just excited. Only when his face brightens in an emotional smile I have my answer.

"I… Of course… sure," he nods decidedly.

"Okay," I nod too. And before I can say anything else I feel his lips on mine. I shiver under the warmth of his mouth. It's what I've been unconsciously craving since the moment I walked in but I was hesitant to make the first move. I let him encircle my waist with gentleness as my hands slowly make their way up and capture him in a tighter embrace.

* * *

**A/N: Yes, Anthony in this story is still a pain in the ass, exactly like in the show, but didn't backstab Alicia. It's just that this chapter was written like two months ago and I'm too lazy to come up with another name :P**


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